


In Search of Silver Linings, We Discovered Gold

by Lady_Vibeke



Series: Family of Rogues [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Developing Relationship, F/M, Falling In Love, Half-Sibling Incest, Mild Sexual Content, Romance, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 16:58:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17943602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Vibeke/pseuds/Lady_Vibeke
Summary: “I’m sorry, Lenny,” she whispers in a broken sob, and her lips are dangerously close to his. “I’m sorry,” she repeats, but she’s already kissing him.Len can't breathe. His heart stops.Lisa is kissing him.And it’s sloppy, and desperate, and wet, and the taste of her tears burns on Leonard’s tongue as much as her lips burn on his mouth. The shadow of a thought flickers in the mess that is Len's mind, causing his heart to skip a beat as the thought materializes into awareness – and it's something he was never supposed to know.Lisa kisses like she's running out of time.





	In Search of Silver Linings, We Discovered Gold

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [partial fault](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6938032) by [santanico](https://archiveofourown.org/users/santanico/pseuds/santanico). 



> Title from Sinners by Lauren Aquilina, just like the opening lyrics. Obviously the gold in the title is a reference to Golden Glider.  
> I must warn you that I still have to start watching The Flash, so all I know about the show is basically Lisa and Len's relationship from the scenes I've watched from YouTube. I apologise for any inaccuracy you may encounter.  
> Please, note that this work contains sibling incest: don't like, don't read.

 

 _But my world is only you_  
_And if we're sinners, then it feels like heaven to me_  
_You showed me feelings I've never felt before_  
_We're making enemies, knocking on the devil's door_  
_But how can you expect me not to eat_  
_When the forbidden fruit tastes so sweet?_

― Sinners, Lauren Aquilina

 

***

 

“Stay down!”

Lisa skids to a halt in front of him and shoves him out of range with her whole body. Two bullets graze the edge of the wall they're hiding behind.

Len hears a faint gasp from Lisa, but when he turns to check on her she's already slipped out of their cover to fire at the cops, successfully neutralizing two. Two more to go.

“Counter!” she yells at Len as she moves sideways towards the open safe. She just has to retrieve the bag and they're clear to go.

Leonard waits for the two remaining cops to couch down under a desk, then darts behind the counter across the room. Out of the corner of his eye he catches Lisa fishing the bag from the safe before disappearing from his sight.

More shots are fired. Len grits his teeth fighting the urge to peek out to see if Lisa is okay. He barely has the time to panic before he hears a thud next to him: the jewels tinkle in the bag in Lisa's hand as she lands beside him, barely dodging another shower of bullets. She turns quickly, shoots. The last two cops fall, coated in gold, and Lisa sneers, then slides down on the floor next to Len.

“What’s wrong, Lenny?” she teases, watching her brother charge his gun again. “Can’t keep up?”

He glares through his goggles. “Trying to watch your back.”

“I don’t need your supervision, you know?” says Lisa, dangling the bag in front of him as a proof of her professional efficiency. The other hand, the one holding her Gold Gun, remains still on her lap. Len curses under his breath.

“Says the one with the bullet hole in her arm,” he snaps, gaining a flash of wide eyes from her. “Yes, I've noticed,” he confirms as she instinctively looks down on her arm. It takes her less then a blink to put on her sassy face again.

“I can take it,” she replies dismissively. “Let’s go.”

They reach the safe-house without further inconveniences, except Lisa's wound bleeding all over the car. She doesn't even flinch when Len ties his scarf around the arm tightly enough to slow down the blood-loss to a minimum. She's tough, but it isn't news to Len: she's taken much worse than that, in her life.

“Clothes off,” Len orders as soon as he has Lisa sat down in a chair in the kitchen.

“I’m fine,” she protests. “It’s just-”

“I said _clothes off.”_

Lisa lifts a cat-like look on him as she slowly strips out of the leather jacket. “Bossy. That’s hot.”

Len grabs her arm, splashes disinfectant all over the gaping wound until the dry blood is washed away. It's bad, but nothing a few stitches can't fix. He's lost count of the times he's had to stitch up Lisa and himself, and every time he has to work the needle into her skin he sees the little girl with the big blue eyes who had to learn too soon not to cry when she was hurt.

“You pull a stunt like that again and you’re out, sis,” he warns once he's done. Eleven stitches stand out gruesomely against Lisa's creamy complexion; soon it'll be just another scar on her body.

“Oh, yes,” says Lisa unimpressedly. “I would have loved to see you take that bullet to your heart, instead.”

“Not funny.”

“No one’s laughing.” Lisa's tone is cold, but her eyes are soft – soft as they can only be for him. “You’re all I have, Len. I’m not going to apologize for protecting you. You’ve had my back since I was a baby. I’m a big girl, now: I can return the favor, and you don’t get to complain.”

Len cracks a lopsided smile. His chest swells with fondness with Lisa looking at him like that – like he's the only thing in the world that counts.

“Trainwreck,” he whispers as he leans down to press his lips to her forehead.

Lisa strokes his cheek, gives him a smile full of warmth. “Jerk.”

 

*

 

They call it _Saints and Sinners,_ but the only real saint Len has ever seen in this place is that pathetic dork that goes by the name of Barry Allen. Anyone else in here is dirty to the bone, and Len is perfectly aware he is not exempt from this label. Quite proudly so.

He orders his third beer and grabs it like he wants to shatter it. In the past few minutes his eyes have been glued to a dim corner at the other end of the counter, where his baby sister is being hit on by a vulgar and persistent hunk who looks at her like she's his dinner.

Len narrows his eyes. Lisa is playing coy, all shy smiles and blushing cheeks, and the way she fidgets with her curls is turning a lot of heads, from men and women equally.

Len doesn't understand what she sees in that guy. He's attractive and muscular, but completely ordinary and certainly too dumb to be her type. She's out of his league – she's out of everyone's league, in here – and the guy probably thinks she's charmed by him, but Len can see through her antics and called her bluff when the conversation had barely begun. Lisa keeps shooting him surreptitious glances, fully aware that he has been watching, just as he watched all the pieces of shit that came before him, and the way her grin broadens sightly whenever she meets his eye tells Len she has him exactly where she wants him. Suddenly, Len realizes Lisa has been toying with him as much as she's been toying with the lame idiot in front of her.

Len ran out of patience a while ago, but when the lecher's hand ventures up Lisa's thigh, he sees red.

He jumps off his stool, an acute hiss ringing in his ears, and in a few strides he has his Cold Gun pointed at the man's face.

“Get your dirty hands off her if you want to walk away with them still attached to your wrists.”

Lisa observes, intrigued. Her open jacket shows the rise and fall of her chest as her breath intensifies.

“You didn’t say you had a boyfriend!” the guy grunts, sounding not nearly as scared as he should be, since Len is ready to freeze his brains right here and right now.

“I don’t,” Lisa says. She bats her lashes, the living portrait of cluelessness, and wraps her arms around herself while leaning toward the counter, deliberately accentuating several inches of exposed cleavage. “He’s my big brother.”

She says _big_ with a glint in her eyes and a sly undertone lacing the smooth velvet of her voice. She licks her lips, waiting for Len to reply, a subtle stretch in her smile.

Len smirks, half amused and half puzzled by this provocative behavior. He doesn’t know why she is acting like she’s looking for trouble, but she surely needs to stop.

He lowers his gun, gives her a sharp nod.

“Come on, Lise, time to go. You’re up way past your bedtime. Sorry, pal,” he adds, turning to the creep. “I’m doing you a favor, trust me.”

Lisa makes to stand up, but the guy grabs her arm.

“Why don’t we ask the lady what she wants to do?”

Len and Lisa exchange an amused look on the _lady,_ then Len glares at the man's hand, still clutched on his sister's arm.

“Let her go, I won’t ask twice.”

Lisa looks at the guy with an innocent smile that makes Leonard’s blood simmer. “He asked politely,” she purrs, sweeter than honey. Len waits for the idiot to comply, but, much to his annoyance, Lisa's silky tone seems to have hypnotized him, and now he's goggling at her in pure lust.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The poor fellow doesn't even have the time to realize what's going on: Len charges his gun, fires, then jams the gun into the pretty ice sculpture he just created, crumbling it down to a pile of ice cubes.

He sneers at the gaping patrons. “Anyone's drinks run warm? Help yourself.”

When they walk out of the pub side by side, Lisa addresses Len a capricious pout: “I could have done that myself.”

“I know,” says Len. “Didn’t want you to rob me of the pleasure.”

They mount on Len's motorcycle. Before putting her helmet on, Lisa nears her mouth to Len's ear: “If I didn’t know better, I'd say you’re getting possessive.”

“If I didn't know better,” Len argues, turning back to her. “I'd say you’ve been flirting with douchebags on purpose.”

“Oh?” Lisa presses her chest against his back. “And for what _purpose,_ exactly?”

Len tenses, hands stilling with his helmet halfway to his head

“Behave, Lizard,” he warns. “I only have so much patience.”

Apparently it's funny, because it makes Lisa giggle. “You haven’t called me that in ages.”

“Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Lisa giggles again, then cranes her neck to kiss the side of Len's neck. “Let’s go home, Lenny. I’m not in the mood for drinks.”

“Good. Pizza?”

“Only if I can have your crust.”

“Always.”

 

*

 

“What the hell is wrong with Baby Girl?”

Len follows Mick's gaze towards the living room. To Lisa. She's sprawled in the armchair, the oversized gray t-shirt pilfered from Len's wardrobe sags off one shoulder and leaves her legs naked despite the temperature being anything but warm. She's polishing her gun with a look a girl would normally have while petting a kitten.

“What do you mean?”

Mick grabs three cookies from the box and stuffs them into his mouth.

“Girl’s getting reckless,” he grumbles. Len casts him an eloquent glance and Mick grunts. “More than usual, dumbass. Been puttin' herself through an awful lot of unnecessary danger, lately.”

It's the truth, Len noticed, too. Flirting with the wrong people is but the tip of the iceberg: Lisa seems to have developed a fascination for putting herself in dire situations and Len only has so many spare lives to sacrifice for pulling her out of her own madness.

“You better keep an eye on her,” Mick continues gloomily. “One of these days she’s gonna get hurt.”

Len closes his eyes feeling his breath hitch in his throat. “She already has.”

“Huh?”

“The jewelry last month. She took a bullet for me while we were getting away.”

Mick shrugs. “Of course she did. You'd have done the same for her.” Then, after a brief pause, he scowls: “Last month, huh? That explains your face.”

Len's eyebrows arch. “Something wrong with my face?”

“Don’t you have a mirror? You look like shit. Bet you haven’t slept a straight night since that.”

Len takes a wistful sip from his beer. Mick, of course, is right.

“She’s a wild one,” Mick says, and Len doesn’t miss the hint of contradictory pride in his voice. “Whatever’s wrong with her, you better find out soon. I have a bad feeling about that kid.”

 

*

 

Len is about get his parka and go out looking for her when Lisa makes her entrance with her heels in one hand and her coat thrown over the opposite arm. Len takes in her crop top and tight leather pants and frowns.

“Where have you been?”

Lisa drops heels and coat on the couch and proceeds to strip out of the rest of her clothes. “Date.”

“Who?”

“I don't kiss and tell, Lenny.” she winks and tosses her top at him. Len catches it without missing a beat.

“It was Scarlet's nerd buddy, wasn’t it? Cisco?”

Lisa is out of her pants, too. She leaves them on the floor as she heads to the bathroom. “What if it was?”

Len follows. He leans against the door while she opens the sink tap and splashes fresh water over her face. “You’ve always had a terrible taste in men.”

“What about my taste in women?” she retorts, smirking at him through the mirror.

“Underachiever. Man or woman, you always seem to go for the underdog.”

Lisa straightens up, turns around slowly, unbothered by the fact that she's half naked in front of her own brother. They've both seen each other in less clothing than that. “You think you know me so well, don’t you?”

Len raises a brow. “I do.”

Lisa mimics him. “Is that so?”

“What’s that face?”

“Oh, Lenny.” Lisa laughs low in her throat. Goosebumps rise all over Len's arms. “Cisco is cute and fun, but he’s a _boy,”_ she says, stepping closer to him. She runs a knuckle up his chest, head tilted to one side. “And you know I like my men well rounded and experienced.” She nudges his flank with a swing of her hip, then leans in to cup his face and brush her lips over his cheek.

Leonard absorbs the warmth of the kiss with a shiver running down his back. Lisa's body is hot by his side, the heat she irradiates sneaks under Leonard's skin and burns down to his bones.

“What was that for?” he asks in a thick whisper.

Lisa slides a hand across his stomach, rubs her cheek over his shoulder like a cat in seek of attention.

“For caring about me.”

Len swallows.

His hands are sweaty.

 

*

 

Lisa is shuffling around in black lacy panties, providing a generous showcase of long, toned legs and soft breasts, and doesn’t even bother to turn around when she greets him with a cheerful “Hey!”

Only when she gets no response she turns to cast him a quizzical look, to which Len replies with an arched brow.

“You’re home early,” she says.

She doesn’t try to cover herself. It’s nothing Len hasn’t already seen: they’ve never been prudish around each other and he knows his sister’s body almost as well as he knows his own. Knows her planes and her curves and her scars, and he could map her from head to toe with his eyes closed, recognize her just by swiping a finger across her collarbone, or down her back, or along her face. Just by her scent.

“Something came up,” he announces, and Lisa, thoroughly unconcerned, ducks back into her wardrobe. The marks on her back draw an intricate pattern of lines and gushes, and Len hates how he knows so precisely which ones were caused by a broken bottle and which by Lisa collapsing onto sharp objects.

Lisa threw away her self-consciousness ages ago, but Len knows she hasn’t forgotten the shame her marred skin used to cause her. She wears her scars like a crown, now, proud as a lioness of all the battles she faced and survived, and Len feels himself bursting with pride for the woman she has become: life forced her to fight, so she became a warrior. _The world did this to me,_ her scars scream, _but I’m a survivor, and if you bite me, I’ll bite back, and make you regret it._

“Flash?” Lisa asks as she pulls out a couple of dresses she tosses on the floor. Len huffs.

“Who else?”

“Well, since you’re here, you might as well make yourself useful.” She holds up two dresses at her sides. Both are beautiful and way too short for Len to approve. “Blue or green?”

“Black,” he sneers, because Lisa looks good in everything, but she's absolutely ravishing in black, and when she’s clad in lace and leather, the world is bound to crawl at her feet.

Lisa smirks at him, because she’s perfectly aware of what he's thinking.

“Knew it.”

Len watches her slip in a tight skirt that embraces her round hips like a glove. When she picks a top, she collects her hair over one shoulder, then asks Len to help her pull up the zip on her back; he obliges, and suddenly realizes how elegant this outfit is. The situation is more serious than he had anticipated, and he doesn’t like it. At all.

“Cisco again?” he inquires without trying to hide his disapproval.

Lisa glances at him from over her shoulder with a mysterious grin. “Nuh-huh.”

Len's irritation morphs into worry. Not Cisco means someone else. Someone he doesn't know and who can hardly be as nice and harmless as stupid Ramon. He's not happy with Lisa dating Cisco, but, hell, Lisa dating someone who's not Cisco is, surprisingly, even worse.

“Who is it? Guy or girl?”

He tries to sound casual. Lisa, however, is way too perceptive and doesn't buy his shit for a second.

“Guy. Not sure you’d approve.”

If he's anything like those assholes she's been casually flirting with in the last few weeks, Len is positive he's going to have a mental breakdown. It's not much the guys being assholes: Lisa is free to date assholes, as long as they're worth her attention; what Len is not okay with is her wasting her time with utter _morons._

“I’m going to kill him.”

Lisa giggles. “I’d like to see you try.”

An odd thought hits Len. “It’s not Barry, is it? Please, tell me it’s not Barry.”

Lisa rolls her eyes dramatically. “Again, _boy._ Cute and fun, but not my jam.” She grabs Len's elbow and drags him towards his room. “Come on, we’re late.”

Len furrows his brows questioningly: “Gotta have somewhere to go to be late.”

Something clicks as he says it.

_'We're late.'_

As in, the two of them.

It's _him._ Len is Lisa's date.

All of a sudden, the world seems a little brighter.

No douchebag, after all. It is only fair: the one person up to Lisa's beautiful intellect could be no one but her own brother. Len is pretty smug with her choice: finally she picked someone he's happy to approve.

“We’ve got a table for two at _Il Mare,”_ she informs him while she pulls at his turtleneck. _“_ What?” she says when he raises his brows at her. “I dare you to complain about my date, this time.”

Len gets rid of his turtleneck with a small laugh. “No one’s complaining.”

It's been a while since he and Lisa had a little time only for themselves. Heists and adrenaline are fun, but Len appreciates this unexpected surprise: a night out, just the two of them, is exactly what he didn't know he needed. And Lisa, being Lisa, knew before he did, of course.

“Good.” she playfully slaps his ass and pushes him in front of his wardrobe. “Go ahead, put on something nice. I want you all dressed up for me.”

Len caresses her with his eyes. Smart, beautiful Lisa. He doesn't know what would have been of him without her, without a purpose, a reason to hold on. She's been his silver lining ever since she was born, his strength in the darkest moments of his life, and all the good he's ever done, Len has done for her. Because of her.

“For you, sis, only the best.”

 

*

 

They attract quite a wake of interested looks as they make their entrance in the restaurant. Len is particularly self-satisfied to walk among the tables with Lisa on his arm, the slow swing of her hips hypnotic to a point that several women forget to reprimand their husbands and partners in favor of the show Lisa is deliberately putting on. Not that Len isn't quite a sight himself: the navy tux flatters his figure as though it was designed specifically for him, the rich color highlighting his eyes as much as the black kohl does with Lisa's stunning irises.

They order champagne and the most expensive dishes the menu has to offer, weaving sips and bites into chats and laughter, and the hours drift away so seamlessly that they're both genuinely shocked when they notice the restaurant is closing soon.

Lisa excuses herself before leaving and goes to the restroom. Once Len is alone, the elderly gentleman at the table next to theirs raises his glass of wine at him.

“You’ve got a lovely lady, there, son.”

Len is so taken aback by the misunderstanding that the reply he utters comes out of his mouth without any filter: “I know.”

It's a rude response, but the man doesn't seem to mind. “The way she looks at you…” He winks. “You’re a very lucky man.”

Len is not sure what he means. Lisa doesn't look at him in any particular way. Does she?

“I guess I am.”

“You two have been together for long?”

“All our lives.”

“Ah, childhood sweethearts.” The man nods with a nostalgic smile. “Those are the best love stories, aren’t they?” He stands up as a pretty lady with gray hair and a kind smile reaches him. He offers her his arm, but stops to pat Len's shoulder before they go: “Take good care of her, alright?”

 _I’m doing my best,_ Len tells himself, and yet he's not so sure that is true. Tonight proved to him that Lisa's life could be so much better. It's been just a shard of normality in a crazy criminal life, and it made him realize how much he and Lisa are missing out – not fancy dinners and romantic trivialities per se, but quality time together, the little things everyone has and that were never an option for them. And this – tonight and the dinner, the nice dresses and the champagne – this is so stupid and so important he swears he's going to make it happen again, because it was good, but definitely not enough.

He wants more. More of this, with Lisa.

“Made a new friend?”

He looks up, startled. Lisa is towering over him sporting a curious expression.

“He complimented me for my beautiful woman.” Len slides a few notes into the bill folder and stands up. Lisa takes his arm, eyeing him like she knows something he doesn't.

“How nice of him.”

The restaurants' staff wishes them a goodnight as they exit. Lisa struts under the envious gazes of the young waitresses. Len cannot resist: he takes her hand and brings it to his lips, kissing its knuckles with a look of sheer adoration. It makes Lisa beam like a little girl.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he teases, and Lisa chuckles.

“Being the spoiled wife of a handsome gentleman? You bet I am.”

“You’re such a shameless flirt.”

Lisa laughs, wraps her arms around his arm, leans into him as they walk.

“Like brother, like sister.”

 

*

 

The day Lisa calls in tears to inform Len she's at S.T.A.R. Labs, Len's blood freezes as he immediately thinks of the worst. There's a strange vibe to Lisa's voice when she finally manages to explain what happened.

Barry and Cisco were out facing a new meta and things had gone south, leaving Cisco severely wounded.

Len doesn't care if he's being petty: he sighs in relief. He's got nothing against Cisco (except the fact that he got too close to his little sister), but all that matters to him is that Lisa is safe.

“How’s he?” he asks when he gets there.

Lisa throws herself into his arms. “He’ll live,” she mutters weakly. She seems exhausted. Len tenses; finding his sister so emotionally invested is unsettling. “He’s a good kid, Len,” she says, as if she can read his mind. “He didn’t deserve this.”

“Yeah, I know.”

There is a short pause, then Lisa looks up at him, back to her usual self: “What is it, Lenny? You’re jealous?”

Len scrutinizes her closely, expecting to see her trademark mischievousness, but Lisa is serious and her eyes intense.

_'The way she looks at you...'_

“Depends,” says Len cautiously. “Do you love him?”

Lisa snorts. “Only like a-”

Her eyes go wide as she trails off and looks at Len like she’s afraid she just insulted him.

She nearly did.

“I love him as a friend,” she says in the end, speaking each word with chiseled circumspection.

Len weighs the sound of them not as a brother but as a man, and realizes that what has been left unspoken means much more than what was pronounced out loud. He knows what Lisa was about to say, knows the automatic mechanisms that lead the human brain to formulate certain responses out of habit, and he can see why Lisa couldn’t say _that_ as a justification, as a valid reassurance – _I love him like a brother._

The popular, harmless expression would acquire a whole different meaning and depth on Lisa’s lips, and context can turn the whole world upside down, sometimes. Context, in this case, being a sibling bond that goes way beyond all common concepts of brotherly love, deeper and darker, and infinitely more complex.

“You need friends,” he concedes, his heart shrinking from the painful awareness that this is the truth, that Lisa has always been used to get on by herself – pick and fight her battles, drag herself from day to day, waiting for Len to return, to come home, to kiss her goodnight in the dark.

Like Len, Lisa wasn’t born a cold-hearted soldier: she was forged, carved and sculpted by the sharp edges of the life that was forced upon them – first by their father's violence, then by the violence of life itself.

“I have you,” she argues, as if Len, all by himself, makes up for everything she has ever lacked.

“That’s not enough.”

“It’s always been enough.”

Len's hands tighten around her waist. He aches from the honesty in her tone; something swells within him knowing he's all she needs, all she asks for.

“You deserved better,” he objects all the same, casting a glance around. “Better than this life and better than me.”

“You’ve always protected me.”

Len's attention falls on the scar on her collarbone. His mind scans her body, lingering where more old wounds are concealed beneath the clothes. “You still have all these scars.”

Lisa shakes her head. “You have more.”

“Not enough.” Every scar that didn’t end up on his body, ended up on hers, and Len considers each of them a personal failure.

“Don’t blame yourself,” she soothes. “Dad was a monster. We survived. Together. I wouldn’t be here, today, if it hadn't been for you.”

They're standing too close. Molded together like one, heart to heart, they're standing too close and looking at each other too longingly.

Something has been shifting between them in this last period, so gradually it almost went unnoticed. But Len can see it, now, can feel it, the subtle yet definite new shape his relationship with Lisa has been taking. It's strange how neither of them seems troubled by this.

“We’re fucked up beyond repair.”

Lisa's jaw contracts. “What if we are?” she says, a stubborn set to her chin. “Who can judge us? We wouldn’t care anyway.”

And she's right. Of course she's right. Besides, this isn't really the moment to question dangerous feelings.

“I’m sorry, I know you’re upset for Cisco.” He takes a step back, her hands in his. “Do you want me to stay?”

Lisa denies. “He’s going to be okay. His friends are here.” Her fingers intertwine with Len's, squeezing with a silent prayer. “Take me home, Lenny.”

He nods. “Okay.” He takes off his jacket, wraps it and then his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go home.”

At home, he sits her on the couch and makes her tea. It's awfully domestic of them, so different from their usual pub and alcohol, but there's something comforting in a cup of tea that booze cannot provide, and a sense of safety in this house – _their house_ – that cannot compare to a dirty pub.

“Stay with me?” she begs when he carries her to bed an hour later, half asleep. “Please?”

He'd been hoping she would ask that, afraid she would rather be alone with her thoughts, but no, of course not. They grew up too codependent to be able to stay away from each other in such a delicate situation. So delicate that even Len's jealousy for Cisco is momentarily forgotten, buried under heavy layers of concern and sympathy for this strong, fragile creature he has the privilege to call his sister.

“Sure,” he complies – gladly – sliding under the sheets next to her. “Make room.”

Lisa obeys, waits for him to lie down to sneak back to him, curling in his arms like she used to do as a little girl, running from her nightmares.

“I’m cold,” she says feebly, and for an insane moment Len hates Cisco for doing this to her, hates him because Lisa cares about him, somehow, and it's all his fault if she's so shaken, now.

“I’m here,” Len whispers as he strokes her hair gently. “I’m right here, Lise.”

“Thank you.”

 

*

 

They wake up in the middle of the night in a tangle of limbs, Lisa's head tucked under Len's chin, her lips against his pulse. It's warm and cozy, here, under the heavy blankets, and everything in this room, in this bed, has the bittersweet scent of Lisa's skin. Even Len.

Lisa stirs, lazily nuzzling her face into Len's neck. “Thank you for not leaving.”

“Why would I leave?”

“We’re a little grown up to share a bed without raising legitimate doubts.”

Len lets out a faint laugh. “I know what grown ups do in bed, sis.”

She stiffens. Her fingertips dig into Len's pectorals. He listens to her breathe, starts rubbing small circles on her back until she relaxes again, exhaling a small sigh. She nudges a knee between Len's to hook her leg over his.

“Yeah, you do.” Lisa grabs his chin between her fingers, tilts her head forward with a flutter of dark lashes. Len instinctively jerks back.

“What are you doing?”

Lisa's thumb strokes his jaw. She attempts a broken smile, but there are ghosts of tears shimmering in her eyes.

“Lise. It's okay. Cisco's gonna be okay.”

She sniffles out a laugh. “This is not about Cisco. I’m sorry, Lenny,” she whispers in a broken sob, and her lips are dangerously close to his. “I’m sorry,” she repeats, but she’s already kissing him.

Len can't breathe. His heart stops.

_Lisa is kissing him._

And it’s sloppy, and desperate, and wet, and the taste of her tears burns on Leonard’s tongue as much as her lips burn on his mouth. The shadow of a thought flickers in the mess that is Len's mind, causing his heart to skip a beat as the thought materializes into awareness – and it's something he was never supposed to know.

_Lisa kisses like she's running out of time._

He kisses back. How can he not? It should feel wrong, but it doesn't. If anything, it feels like the only thing that makes sense to do – kissing her, kissing his sister like there's no tomorrow and today is slipping away.

Len wants to reassure her, to promise he's not going anywhere and they have all the time in the world – they can have forever, if this is what she wants. He wants to give her everything. She _deserves_ everything. And it never occurred to him that heaven may taste like fire and flames, but here he is, sliding a hand over his baby sister’s hip and curling another around her neck, and it _is_ heaven, and he’s not really the type to bother about morals, but a part of him, however small and distant, knows this is not supposed to happen, nor is he supposed to enjoy it so much.

“I’m sorry,” Lisa says again, and she sounds so sad and broken Leonard needs to close his lips upon hers to silence whatever she may add.

“Don’t,” he murmurs, running a hand through her hair as his thumb traces the neat line of her cheekbone. “Don’t be. It’s okay. It’s okay, Lise,” he can't stop repeating, for her, but also for himself. “It’s okay.”

Lisa presses her lips together, nods slowly. Her nose brushes against Len’s and he smiles softly, returning the gesture because he knows she loves this.

“Tell me what you need.”

“Just this,” she breathes over his mouth. “Just you.” Warm fingers cup his face, caress him tenderly. “Just...”

_Us._

He doesn’t need to hear her say that. He knows what she means and _feels_ what she means. They grew up together, their closeness has always been their strength: they can get under each other's skin in a blink and can read each other's minds like their own.

Len doesn’t need Lisa to say that out loud: she needs him as much as he needs her. He's going to protect her, always, and be by her side, no matter what. No matter who.

“I’m here. I’m here.”

“I know.” Lisa shivers in his arms. “I know. I love you, Lenny.”

He kisses her again, and again.

“I love you, Lizard.”

 

*

 

He can still feel Lisa's body under his palms. Her excruciating softness is carved into his senses, a pattern of curves and lines his hands devoured with the frantic eagerness of a starving heart craving, yearning for love. And love he found.

He doesn't have an explanation for what is happening to them, nor he wants to find one. He doesn't need it. There's a part of him that wants to run from this, to deny all of it, but the part that wants to stay is larger, and infinitely stronger.

Maybe this makes him a monster. No big deal. He's already got a collection of sins heavier than his own soul... what's one more on top of that? What's a sin of love, compared to all the evil he has done?

He's aware he should be disgusted of himself, be ashamed for feeling like this for his sister, for wanting things from her he shouldn't have the nerve to ask. But he didn't need to ask: Lisa came to him, Lisa started this. Lisa lit up this fire, and now they can only burn.

Without fear.

Without shame.

Lisa appears beside him in the reflection in the kitchen window. She's fresh out of the shower, smelling like lavender and sage, Len's old t-shirt, too large for her, falling loosely around her.

He feels her lips on his bare shoulder, the touch of her hands on his hips.

“Good morning.”

“Hey.” Len turns around, furrows his brows in concern. “Do you feel better?”

Lisa is close. She beams up radiantly at him. “I always sleep like a baby, in your arms.”

She sounds serene. The broken Lisa from last night has vanished and her usual, confident self is back, and there's a playful look dancing in her eyes.

She leans forward, locks her arms around his neck, and Len welcomes her in a passionate embrace. He caresses her back, low, where it is bare, then pulls back to drink in the happiness painted across her face.

She reaches out, demanding a quick kiss, and he's only happy to oblige. His hands slide down to her flanks. He rubs a thumb over the little gecko tattooed on her left hipbone and feels a spark of electricity ignite in his wrist and up his arm.

_Lizard._

Years ago, when she was only sixteen, Lisa made it impossible for him to ever forget that she chose to permanently mark herself as _Leonard’s_ for everyone to see. Nobody knows the meaning of the tat, of course, but Len does, and seeing it now, after what happened between them, sends rushes of blood to all the right places.

Lisa giggles into his mouth. “Lenny! “ She takes a step back, chuckles smugly. “Is that your Cold Gun in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

She reaches for the hem of Len's sweatpants, but he blocks her halfway.

“You’re taking this too far.”

Lisa raises her eyes to the ceiling. “How far is _too far_ when you’re making out with your brother?”

She has a point. And it's not like Len doesn't want this, but... there is just too much at stake. He's got no problem with getting his own heart broken, but he cannot risk breaking Lisa's.

“Don’t make this any harder.”

“Harder than _this?”_ She glances eloquently at his crotch. “Is that a challenge?”

“ _Lise.”_

“It’s no big deal, Len,” she snaps, nostrils flaring. “I want this, you want this. Easy peasy, cards on the table. Or I can be on the table,” she teases, and in a moment she hops on the table top, shamelessly spreading her legs in an explicit invitation, head tilted sideways to bare the long, white neck which already bears the marks he left on her last night. She hums at his obvious arousal, draws him close to her to press her lips to his. “How about that, Lenny?”

Her voice is hoarse, and it's torture, and it's bliss, and how can a simple man say no to all of this?

“Minx,” he mutters, and moves between her open legs like he doesn't have a choice.

Lisa takes his hand, guides it down between her legs. “Don’t say it like you don’t love it,” she murmurs into Len’s ear, and, damn, she’s not wearing any underwear, and she's  _wet._ So wet he finds himself groaning, his self-control weakened by the growing arousal.

“This is not okay,” he tries to protest. “I can’t do this to you. We may be sick and fucked up to the bone and okay with that, but I respect you too much to-”

Lisa presses herself into Len's hand. _“Please,”_ she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “I’m the one who’s been seducing you, stop trying to pretend I’m some sort of victim.”

“You’re still my baby sister. I should take care of you, not-”

“You wanna take care of me, Lenny?” she hisses impatiently. “Pin me against the wall and show me how much you _care.”_

Len's head spins. The blood is pumping furiously into his veins, making it hard for him to focus, and the feeling of Lisa's slick folds under his fingers makes it too much to bear. There is no fighting this. He's tired of trying, anyway.

“Oh, fuck it.”

He grabs Lisa's ass and pulls her against him, allowing her to feel what she's done to him. He trembles when she captures him in a lascivious kiss.

“That’s more like it,” she mewls contentedly. She tries to steal another kiss, but Len, in a fragment of lucidity, holds her back. Before they do this, there is one thing he needs to get off his chest.

“This is more than just sex,” he pants. He's almost blind with arousal, but he needs to make sure they're in this together, until the very end. “Are we clear? We do this, we never look back.”

“Oh, Lenny,” Lisa hums huskily upon his lips, a whisper so sweet it makes Len's knees go weak.

She kisses him, kisses him, kisses him, hungry and lost and _loving,_ then, panting, rests her forehead against his and inhales deeply, breathing him like he's her only air. When she meets his gaze, the smile she gifts him is soft, almost shy.

“I’m glad we’re finally on the same page.”

 

*

 

They make love all over the house – sweet, hard, messy – to make up for the lost time, and it's morning again when they find the strength to roll out of bed, tired and sore, but blissfully so.

Len goes to make breakfast while Lisa takes a shower. By the time she emerges from the bathroom, Len has fried a bunch of bacon and eggs, made a pot of coffee and poured orange juice for both.

Lisa pads barefoot across the kitchen, wet hair dripping droplets all over the floor. She's wearing her own pyjamas, now: shorts and a tank top. She looks exactly like a girl is expected to look after a night of great sex: flushed and glowing, and impatient to start over again.

“My, my,” she chants, sneaking up on Len from behind his back, and takes a peek at the french toast he's flipping on the stove. “To what do I owe the honor of such a princely meal?”

“Just figured we both might use some proper food.”

“Aren’t you absolutely golden,” she purrs, enveloping her arms around his waist.

He turns around in her embrace to brush a kiss on her temple. “Agreed. “ He's about to go back to his cooking, content with the atmosphere of normality between them, but he feels ike he needs to make sure everything is truly alright. “Lise, what happened last night-”

“Was a mistake,” she interjects, and Len’s stomach clenches, because this is not remotely what he meant to say. He closes his mouth, swallows the rest of his thought, panic and sorrow mounting within him.

Then Lisa tugs at his wrist, spins him around with a knowing smirk. “And I loved it.”

Len lets out a shaky breath he didn't know he'd been holding. The tension in his shoulders melts away. Shuddering with relief, he pulls her to him and holds her tight, basks in the feeling of her face and her hands pressed against his chest, in the warmth spreading all across his body. He kisses the top of her head, earning a rare sheepish smile he can _feel_ on his naked skin. And this... this is _good,_ and _right._ This is exactly how it’s supposed to be: he and Lisa, and nobody else.

“I wonder what Dad would think of this.”

Lisa shrugs in his arms. “I hope it makes him turn in his grave or wherever he is.”

“I’m sure this would be too much even for that asshole.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

Len takes her face between his hands, observes her wistfully, fully conscious that he wouldn't trade this for anything in the world.

“We’re sick bastards.”

Lisa clicks her tongue. “Because we love each other? Then be it. I’m not going to apologize for this.”

She kisses him, not the way she did the first time, with tears and despair, but slow and sweet, a simple touch of lips that sends a shiver down Len's spine, filling him with warm, bright tingles. When she pulls back, he doesn’t even try to conceal his blissful grin, and nor does she.

“Now,” she says briskly. “Why don’t you make me some of your awesome cinnamon pancakes? I’m starving.”

“There is a bunch of stuff on the table.”

“That's not going to be enough to satiate my appetite.”

She gives him a roguish look that says _'Someone wore me out, last night’_ , and Len cannot fight the urge to kiss her again. After doing it once, he can't seem to be able to stop, nor he would want to.

“Anything for you, little sis.”

“And for me, I hope,” grumbles Mick, dragging himself into the kitchen with a dramatic yawn.

Len had no idea he was at home. They surely didn't notice he was here at all. Len hopes his room is sound-proof enough.

“Always, Mick.”

Nodding, Mick slumps into the closest chair and helps himself to a bit of everything he finds on the table.

“What’s with the lovey-dovey looks?” he asks without even looking up. “You two finally figured out you wanna bang each other?”

Lisa feigns a disconcerted expression: _“Excuse me!”_

“Seriously, Mick?” tags along Len. “My own sister?”

Mick shrugs. “Don’t see the problem, there. What’s a little DNA? My cells, hers, yours, the next guy’s...” He waves his hand dismissively. “No difference. If you guys wanna fuck I got no problem with that. Just keep it to the bedroom. And quiet,” he adds warningly.

So maybe Mick's room isn't _that_ sound-proof.

“That I cannot guarantee,” says Len, exchanging an impish gaze with Lisa. This means the world to them, though: Mick is the only person whose opinion matters to them, and knowing he has their back is a comfort and a joy.

Lisa glides to Mick, folds her arms around his neck and kisses his cheek with a fond, bright grin: “Thanks, Mickey. That’s so nice of you.”

Mick grins back through a mouthful of eggs. “You’re welcome, Baby Girl. 't was about time you two opened your damn eyes.”

“Did you hear that, Lenny? We have Mick's blessing.”

“Not that we needed it.”

Lisa shrugs while biting a sensual half grin between her teeth. “It’s still nice to know our family supports our deviant relationship.”

“I’m so touched,” Len drawls. He steals Lisa from Mick and claims back her attention, which she's only happy to provide. Her hands reach around him to rest on his ass.

“Yeah?”

“Profoundly,” he assures, sacrasm oozing from every syllable. He's sure the way they're looking at each other is sickening. If he saw this from anyone else, he would probably gag.

“Guys,” grunts Mick. “Not in front of my bacon.”

Len gives Lisa a scolding eye: “Not in front of Mick’s bacon, Lise.”

Lisa traces the tip of her tongue over her lips like a feline ready to devour her prey. “Can’t enjoy a show, Mick?” she asks without taking her eyes off Len's.

Len grabs her hips, presses her against him, groaning when she grinds into his throbbing crotch.

“Bedroom!” snaps Mick, slamming a fist over the table, but Len and Lisa are not listening: they’re too busy battling for dominance in a kiss that has them landing on the couch in a pile of limbs shaken with laughter.

Mick snorts over his bacon.

“ _Snarts.”_

 

**Author's Note:**

> I never planned to fall in love with Lisa Snart, let alone ending up in this can of worms that is this ship, but I bumped into "Partial Fault" by santanico, decided to read it because, why not?, and here we are. It's not my fault if Wentworth Miller and Peyton List have so much sexual chemistry as Len and Lisa, okay?  
> I'm not sorry for this, I took too much pleasure in writing this to apologise for any of its content. If incest bothers you, i'm sorry, but the tags are pretty clear and there is no way you weren't warned.  
> If, on the other hand, you happened to like this, I would love to hear your opinion, even though I'm pretty sure this is too unlikely a pairing for anyone to bother to read this. Oh well. I'll be all alone in my little corner of hell. (Just kidding, I don't believe in hell!)


End file.
